Reap
by Tyranusfan
Summary: Dean grabbed Sam and ran. It was time to reap what they'd sown. Tag for 4.22 Lucifer Rising. First of two parts. Rated T for some language.
1. Chapter 1

_My tag for "Lucifer Rising." In many ways, I think this ended up being a companion piece to Last Ride, my "When the Levee Breaks" tag (which, despite what Annabeth believed, was NOT anti-Dean). A lot of the same emotions are in play in both._

_Special thanks to geminigrl11 for a really fast beta. I own nothing. Reviews Craved._

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**Reap**

_Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap_. —The King James Bible, Galatians VI

The light was blinding, but Dean's eyes kept going back to it. Sam was transfixed, and not in any good way. The kid look horrified, like he was staring down the end of the world.

Which...okay.

Dean snapped out of it when the first clump of dust landed on his shoulder. Tremors were running through the stone floor, the roof and walls already crumbling. _Time to go_. He sheathed Ruby's knife and grabbed Sam with both hands.

"Out! Let's go!"

Sam didn't look at him. "Dean…."

_No time for this_, Dean got behind Sam and shoved, half-carrying the other man toward the door. Whatever was coming out of the ground, it was picking up speed. Dean could sense it. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can!_

Funny how their lives kept circling around. Like water in a toilet.

Sam got more responsive as they darted down the hall. He was running of his own accord, but Dean still held on to his jacket. He hadn't come this far to let Sammy go now.

Stone and wood fell around them, unneeded reminders of why they were fleeing. Stained glass exploded out of undulating window frames, showering them with shards as they passed. Dean didn't pause as they reached the closed exit doors, just plowed through shoulder-first, silently thankful that Sam reflexively mimicked the motion, sharing the force of impact. They burst out into the night air—the rapidly chilling night air—and past the fence surrounding the abandoned building.

Dean spotted a yellow Mustang parked by the gate and headed for it. He tossed a glance at Sam, who stayed with him most of the way, before stopping and turning around to watch as the roof on the far side of St. Mary's exploded upward. The concussion shattered the remaining windows down the length of the convent. Dean's impulse to flee got stronger by the second.

First things being first, though, he needed to find out why there was a woman in a nurse's outfit sprawled across the open trunk of the Mustang. Dean cautiously checked her pulse, which was thankfully still there.

Alarm bells went off in Dean's mind, though, when he saw the hasty bandage covering what looked like a long cut on the woman's forearm. He threw another glance at Sam, who had turned toward the car, but was staring guiltily at some point near Dean's feet. It didn't take much to put two and two together on why the girl's arm was cut open and why Sam looked so chastened. Dean stepped back.

"Christo."

The unconscious nurse didn't flinch. Didn't react at all, in fact. But that was little comfort. There was a devil's trap painted inside the trunk. Whether she was possessed or not, she was staying right where she was until Dean knew for sure that she wasn't a threat. He tucked her limbs back into the trunk and closed the lid, then stepped back to Sam and practically dragged his increasingly shell-shocked looking brother to the passenger side door.

"It was all for _nothing_…." Sam muttered quietly.

Behind them, strange howling noises were filling the air. The already cloudy sky was growing even darker as thunderheads moved in rapidly. This was worse than any cheap-ass horror movie Dean had ever watched.

"Get in the car, Sam."

Sam was looking back at the approaching storms, too, not moving.

"No," Sam mumbled, tears streaming from his eyes. "Leave me, Dean. Get out of here…please."

Dean shook his head, opening the door and pushing Sam into the seat. "Not a chance."

He raced around and practically dove into the driver's seat. Dean cursed when he went to start the car. The hits just kept coming. "Please tell me you have the keys."

Sam said nothing, just shook his head, eyes locked on the dashboard.

Dean growled, and went about setting a new speed record for hotwiring a car. The tremors could be felt through the floorboards now. Lucifer was either taking his sweet time escaping jail, or it was harder than it seemed. With any luck at all, it was the latter. _Thank God for small favors_.

Finally, after an eternity, the car revved to life. Dean threw it into gear and floored it. "I can't believe I just hotwired a Mustang. You better not tell anybody."

Sam didn't react to the joke—didn't even roll his eyes—just panted lightly and stared at Dean through his bangs. A thin sheen of sweat covered the younger man's face, and he looked like he was going to hurl any second.

Dean looked in the mirror. Lightning was tearing up the sky above the receding convent, and light was shining through every window in the place. _Not good_.

He turned back to the road, pressing the gas pedal harder. He could feel Sam's eyes on him. When he spared a look, Sam was still looking at him, sort of like he'd grown another head or had just announced that he was going vegan.

Sam spoke before Dean could ask what he as staring at. His voice cracked a little. "What are you waiting for?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Just get it over with," Sam breathed, sounding scared and heartbroken at the same time. And, Dean realized with alarm, _hopeful_. What did Sam think he was going to do?

"Sam? What are you talking about, man?" He didn't like the tone of his brother's voice. At all.

Sam looked pained, curling against the door. Any other time, Dean might have expressed his amazement at how small Sam could fold himself. The almost constant flow of tears killed the words in Dean's throat, though. His brother looked miserable. Pathetic. Scared out of his mind and hopelessly resigned at the same time.

"Do what you said you were going to do…please. I won't fight, Dean. Just do it."

The hushed words didn't make any sense, but Sam was still scaring the hell out of him. "Sammy—"

"Dean."

He jumped out of his skin at Castiel's sudden voice from behind them. He managed to keep the car on the road though. Barely.

Castiel was crammed in behind the passenger seat. His mouth was split, and blood flowed from several cuts around his eyes. He looked like he'd been mauled. For the first time since Dean had met him, the angel looked scared.

Dean was about to ask how he was when the woods behind them lit up. A massive explosion rocked the landscape, like a nuclear bomb going off. It was in the direction of St. Mary's.

Castiel grabbed Dean's shoulder, placing his other hand on Sam's. "We need to go."

The world went white just as Dean felt a shockwave overtake the car and flip it off the road.

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Dean blinked as the blinding white light faded and he found himself standing by the window in Bobby's house. Fairly close to where he'd been standing the day before when he'd been whisked away. He glanced around. Cas was right behind him, and Sam was stumbling slowly toward the chair, gripping Bobby's desk for support. The nurse from the trunk was laying by the wall.

He was a little dizzy, but he smiled faintly at his brother. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

Sam said nothing. His hands were shaking, the sheen of sweat visibly worse. Dean frowned. The kid looked like he was going into shock. He hadn't thought to check him for any injuries.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say things didn't go well," Bobby's said from the door. Dean met his gaze with a nod, removing his gun and Ruby's knife from his jeans and setting them on the desk.

"You might say that." He looked back at Sam, who had withdrawn further. All Dean could see was the top of his head.

"He doesn't look so good," Bobby observed, stepping forward to join Dean by the desk. "He hurt?"

Castiel chimed in before Dean could answer. "Sam's going into withdrawal. He had to consume a more concentrated dose of blood, but expended it fighting Lilith. The effects will come on stronger and faster this time."

Dean glanced at Sam. The angel's diagnosis looked spot on. _Great_. He laid a hand on Sam's quivering shoulder. "Hang in there, buddy."

He turned to Cas, keeping his hand on his brother to maintain the connection. Sam needed it. "What about the nurse?"

Cas seemed indifferent to her, instead moving toward the front door. "She's alive. The demon has fled her body. I must reinforce the protections around this place. Angels may be coming for us as well as demons."

The angel was out the door before anyone could speak. Bobby frowned at Dean. "_Angels_?"

Dean glanced at him wearily, hand dropping away from Sam, and motioned upward. "We made a few new 'friends' last night."

"Joy," Bobby motioned to the unconscious woman. "I'll make a call, get her take care of."

The older man moved toward the phone. Dean sighed. If Sam was going back to detox—worse this time? How can it be worse? —they were going to have to get ready. He turned toward Sam, hoping to get his sibling's consent this time. It'd be easier on both of them.

Sam was gone.

Along with Dean's 9mm.

"Sam?" Dean looked around. How the hell had the kid slipped out so quickly? He couldn't have possibly gone out the front door— Dean spun peering through the doorway into the kitchen. The back door was open. He was moving before he fully processed what he was seeing. "Bobby!"

Dean was running by the time he reached the back door. He could hear Bobby's footsteps following. They emerged onto the back lot, the moonlight casting odd shadows from the stacked up parts and scavenged cars. The two men slowed, trying to keep quiet while they got their bearings.

Fortunately, while Sam was quiet, too, he was still panting as his withdrawal symptoms intensified. The sound was like a homing beacon, leading Dean right to him. Sam was behind a stack of wrecked cars, not far from where Dean had spent so many weeks rebuilding the Impala.

When Dean came around the corner, he found his brother on his knees, coughing now, trying to hold the gun with two shaky, fidgeting hands. Dean didn't miss how perilously close the muzzle was to Sam's chin.

A terrifying realization sank in: it was only Sam's lack of motor control at the moment that had kept the gun out of the kid's mouth this long. Dean stepped forward. "Put the gun down, Sam."

The words came out harsher than he intended, more like an order than a request. Sam flinched at the words, falling back against the chassis of a Toyota. Dean flinched too, but mainly because he half expected the gun to go off in Sam's face.

Bobby gripped Dean's shoulder, mouthing the word _Easy_ at the same time that Sam's words in the hotel floated back to him.

_Stop bossing me around, Dean!_

That night hadn't ended so well, so Dean took a deep breath and tried again, gentler. "Sam, please give me the gun."

Sam jerkily shook his head. "I need a minute, okay? You can have it then."

Dean blinked. If it hadn't been for the frenzied look on Sam's face, he would have laughed at the matter-of-fact answer. He replied lightly, though he knew it was no joke. "That, uh, doesn't really work for me, Sammy."

His brother shook his head again, but not in refusal. Sam choked out a sob. "Nothing, Dean. It was all for _nothing_…."

Dean inched closer. A few more steps and he'd be able to grab the gun. The way Sam was shaking, he doubted it'd take much force. "Hey, man, it's all right. Just—"

"_It's not all right!_" Sam shouted, spinning on Dean with a snarl. Dean recoiled, startled at the furious outburst. Sam was angrier than Dean had ever seen him. "That bitch used me! Poisoned me! I turned myself into a monster and for _what_? To start the fucking Apocalypse? To hand Lilith everything she _wanted_?"

"You didn't know—"

"I _should_ have! _You_ didn't believe her, why did I?"

Dean raised his hands, trying to calm Sam down. "Just…just put the gun down, little brother."

Sam scoffed, laughing with a tinge of hysteria. In the moonlit, Dean could see that his pupils were huge against his bloodshot eyes. "Brother? I'm not your brother. I'm a monster, a vampire. You said it yourself!"

_What?_ Dean shook his head. _Where is he getting that?_ He remembered what Sam had said in the car. That hadn't made sense either. Dean hadn't said anything about vampires or doing anything to Sam. He bit his lip and tried a different tack as he moved forward again.

"Sam, Ruby was lying to you, we both know that. She was playing you. But, if you hurt yourself, she wins."

Sam didn't appear to be listening anymore. The gun was still wavering near his face, but, chillingly, was getting steadier. Dean knew he was running out of time.

"I should have done this a year ago…." Sam muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Dean shook his head once, finally within reach of his brother's quaking hands. "No, Sam."

His brother squeezed his eyes shut, tears flowing freely again. Dean lunged, sensing that time was up. He grabbed Sam's forearms, gently but firmly twisting until the gun barrel was pointed toward himself. That got Sam's attention. He froze, staring at Dean in shock.

"W-What are you doing?"

Dean glanced down that the gun, silently praying that Sam's unsteady fingers didn't move before he could play this out. Sam's eyes followed his, clearly at a loss about what to do next. It was the break Dean needed. He spoke quietly and forced reassurance into his tone. "Look at me."

Sam obeyed, still wild-eyed, but hearing him. Dean lowered his voice, absurdly self-conscious with Bobby right behind him.

"You told me once that we were gonna see this through together. Well, I'm calling you on that. I'm not gonna let you back out on me." Dean readjusted his grip, sliding his hands up to embrace the weapon. "So, if you get off the ride, I get off the ride."

Staring at him through tear-rimmed eyes, Sam shook his head, clearly appalled. "Dean…no. Please. Just…let me go…."

Dean put on his best poker face. _How did I miss this? When did he drift so far away from me?_ Well, he hadn't told Zachariah to suck it for nothing. "No. Just you and me, remember?"

Sam looked away, crying openly now, and to Dean's dismay, actually looking disappointed. His hands fell away from the gun. Dean tossed it out of reach.

He reached forward to pull Sam out of the dirt, but Sam's body abruptly went taut. A strangled sob shifted into a sickening gurgle as his brother's muscles tightened like steel cords, slamming him helplessly against the wrecked car.

"It's another damned seizure," Bobby observed, moving past Dean to the other side of Sam's thrashing form to grab an arm. Dean did likewise. Sam's eyes rolled back in their sockets, teeth clamping together with an audible snap.

"It's worse than before," Dean noted with dismay. Holding onto Sam was like wrestling an alligator.

Without warning, a hand appeared, thrusting between the two struggling men and touching Sam's forehead. The younger man immediately went still, collapsing like his strings had been cut. The muscles in his arms and neck instantly went limp.

Dean turned, following the arm to its source. Castiel crouched at Sam's knees.

"Thanks."

The angel glanced at Dean, his expression unreadable. "It's not safe to remain out here. You should take him inside."

With that, he was gone, striding across the back lot and resuming whatever he was doing to fortify the property.

Dean turned back to his brother, but jumped when Bobby whacked him with his ball cap. He grimaced. "What was that for?"

"For being an idgit," Bobby groused. "Do you realize that if Sam's seizure had started one minute earlier, he'd have blown a hole in you? You never point a gun at yourself."

Dean gaped for a moment. That honestly hadn't occurred to him at the time…but he couldn't argue with results. He favored Bobby with a self-satisfied smirk. "Nah. It was _heroic_. Bravest thing I've done all day. Even Sam admired it, I could tell."

He didn't wait for the other hunter's reply as he hefted his unconscious brother off the ground.

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God, he was thirsty.

Sam opened his eyes, letting them wander lazily. He was on his back. The surroundings looked familiar, but his brain was mush. He rolled his head to the side, eyes settling on a small table and what seemed to be a water pitcher. His vision was too blurred to be sure.

"Well..."

He jumped, turning back to find the source of the voice near his feet. His neck ached. When he looked up, he found himself staring at...himself. _How the_—_?_

"Got your big chance. A loaded gun and an empty yard...just the opportunity you've been waiting for…so, what happened?"

"What?" Sam coughed out the word, his dry throat threatening to close on him. The other Sam shook his head, folding his arms.

"I know what happened. You blew it. _Again_. Just pull the trigger, that's all you had to do. One bullet and we would be free. Free! It's what we've wanted for so long now. That and Lilith dead. But, hell, you couldn't even do _that _right, could you?"

"Shut up," Sam croaked, swallowing vainly. His throat felt like sandpaper. "I tried."

"Yeah, well, now we're stuck here. Dean's never going to let us out now."

Sam blinked, trying to see the room. It took a few moments for him to realize where he'd seen the walls before. Bobby's panic room. He dropped his head back against what felt like a pillow. Dean had locked him up.

One glance down confirmed that he was shackled again, as well. Sam just sank onto the cot. He deserved it. He deserved a lot worse.

The other Sam strolled around the right side of the cot, shaking his head and huffing a snide laugh. "So much for 'practical,' huh? Practical got you real far...all the way to the Apocalypse. What a waste. All the trouble you caused, all the blood people spilled to keep you safe over the years. First Mom, then Jess, then Dean. For what?"

"You don't have to tell me." Sam murmured, closing his eyes. Maybe if he didn't react any further, his doppelganger would leave.

No such luck. Hands wrapped themselves around Sam's neck. His eyes shot open at the sudden pressure, and he found the other Sam on top of him, strangling him the way he'd strangled Dean at the hotel.

Sam tensed, but couldn't fight back with his hands cuffed. He wouldn't have wanted to, anyway.

"You're a piss-poor excuse for a son!" The other Sam growled. "A piss-poor excuse for a brother! You're worthless, and you always have been!"

He just let the other scream at him. Maybe, if he didn't struggle, Sam could still get what he wanted. Relief was just settling in when someone grabbed Sam's head.

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"Come on, Sammy! Snap out of it!"

Dean gripped the sides of Sam's thrashing head. Another hallucination. The kid had been murmuring quietly to himself one minute and gurgling as if he couldn't breathe the next. He shook Sam gently, trying to break him out of whatever was tormenting him.

It took a few long seconds, but Sam's eyes finally fluttered open. For a painful moment, Dean saw no recognition, but then his brother began to calm down. His breathing returned to normal a moment later. After that, Sam broke eye contact, a look of total humiliation on his face as he turned away. He was ashamed, hurt, for some reason.

Dean didn't press the issue. For the moment, he'd let Sam try and work through it on his own.

The disappointment that had flashed across Sam's face as the hallucination ended was distressing. It was the same look he'd had the night before when Dean had taken the gun from him. They really needed to talk about these newfound suicidal tendencies when Sam got better.

If he got better.

_We are killing him_.

Bobby was upstairs, going through every book he had, trying to find something about demon blood. Dean suspected it was a waste of time, though. Sam had found out about the demon blood before Dean had gone to Hell. No doubt , given Sam's compulsive need to research, he'd already dug up everything there was to find about it.

They couldn't get it out of Sam. They couldn't give him anything to ease the pain of withdrawal. Sam would have to fight through the clearly agonizing symptoms—and Dean wasn't sure Sam had enough strength left in him at this point.

He'd seen Sam sick. He'd seen Sam wounded. He'd seen Sam delirious. But, this was far worse than any of those. Detox was tearing his brother apart, and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Sam had already fallen back into a restless sleep, so Dean stood and quietly left the panic room. He didn't close the door. Bobby was waiting outside.

"I brought you some more washcloths," Bobby said simply. Dean nodded. The wet cloths helped Sam's fever, at least. Beyond that, they served more to give Dean something to do while Sam—

Dean cursed. "Sometimes, I'm not sure he even knows I'm there, Bobby. Other times, when he sees me, it's like he doesn't recognize me for a minute, then he just _withdraws_…like—"

"Like he's afraid to talk to you?" Bobby supplied. Dean grimaced. He couldn't blame the older man for being right, but he didn't appreciate the implication.

"Sammy's never had to be afraid of me."

Bobby scoffed. "He's never _had_ to be, but of course he is. You're his big brother. As far as he's concerned, the sun rises and sets on you. It's been like that since I met you two boys. I've seen that kid face down monsters, demons, even _John_. He's never blinked. But, one word from _you_? Sam folds like a house of cards."

Dean turned, staring. _No way_. Sam was a stubborn, know-it-all ass sometimes, but afraid of his big brother? He just couldn't believe that. Not after what went down in Cold Spring.

"Are you seriously telling me that you've never seen that?" Bobby asked, his tone part humor, part challenge.

It was too much. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, leaning on the iron door frame. "What can I do, Bobby? Please, just tell me what to do."

He heard a sigh and felt a hand on his shoulder. "Right now? Get some sleep. You're no good to Sam when you're dead on your feet."

Dean cracked his eyes open, casting a weary glance at Bobby before smiling ruefully and shaking his head. "No. I don't want him to wake up alone."

Pausing, he glanced at the stairs leading up to the house. "Any— Any word about what's happening out there?"

Lucifer was on the loose. Dean shuddered just thinking about what was about to start. Bobby looked just as spooked, but shook his head. "Nothing yet. A few weird reports out of Maryland, mutilations, 'occult-based crimes,' but that's all so far. Whatever's gonna happen, it looks to be starting up slow."

_God? God has left the building_.

Dean nodded. Zachariah seemed pretty certain, but Lucifer was staying under the radar. Maybe….

_Small favors_.

He took the washcloths and stepped back into panic room, praying that Zachariah was wrong.

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Dean changed the ice-cold cloth on Sam's forehead for the third time. The fever was worse than before. Sam was burning up from the inside out and nothing Dean had tried so far was bringing it down. The aspirin he'd forced down his sibling's throat two hours before didn't put a dent in the temperature, and he was leery of using anything stronger, not knowing how the meds would interact with the demon blood in Sam's system.

He could take Sam to a hospital, but what would he tell them? _Hey, my brother's been gulping down demonically tainted blood for about ten months, and he's jonesing for some more?_ Dean doubted there was a rehab program for that. Still, if things didn't improve by morning, he might not have a choice.

Night had fallen outside, thanks to a fast-approaching rain shower. Dean couldn't help but question whether the storm was natural or not, given the events of the past few days, but he had to trust that Castiel had the house locked down. The angel had been at it long enough.

Glancing back at Sam, he pressed his fingers into his sweat-soaked neck. Sam's pulse was growing more erratic with every passing hour. _He might not make it to morning_.

"Come on, bro," Dean whispered, brushing damp bangs out of Sam's face. "You can beat this. I know you can."

Sam didn't answer. His eyelids drifted open for a moment, but his pupils were dilated and he didn't lift his head, just staring blankly at the far wall.

"How is he?"

Dean flinched, head spinning around to find Castiel standing at the foot of the bed.

"Jesus—" Dean broke off at the angel's stern look, stammering a little. "I mean, um, _dang it_, stop doing that."

Castiel ignored him, stepping forward to place a hand on Sam's forehead. "He's growing weaker."

Dean shook his head. _Like I can't see that_. "I know."

The angel frowned. "He…his strength is fading quickly. I can feel it. I fear that Sam is dying, Dean."

"Thanks to your boss," Dean intoned bitterly. He didn't need a Heavenly Host to tell him what he already knew. Sam was dying. And Zachariah was as guilty as Ruby for it.

"Dean, I hope—"

Dean looked up sharply when Cas trailed off. "You hope _what_?"

The other man—if he could be called that—looked remorseful. "I just hope that you won't blame all of us for the acts of a few. I never would have wanted this. Your brother has his faults, and has made mistakes, but he is a faithful man. Even when his path turned dark, he still prayed for guidance."

"Fat lot of good that did," Dean snorted. He shook his head. All the lies, all the half-truths, all the mistrust the angels and demons had used to split him and Sam apart…. "I just want to know why."

Cas turned to him. "Why?"

"Why'd Sam do this to himself? How long has he wanted to die? Did you know about any of that?"

A faint, grim smile crossed Castiel's face as he crouched on the opposite side of the cot from Dean. "From the short time I've inhabited this vessel, I've learned about you humans. You are…ruled by your emotions, completely dominated. Until recently, I would have said that it was a concept alien to my kind."

Dean fought hard to keep from rolling his eyes. He was so not in the mood to listen to this psychobabble crap. "What's your point?"

Cas looked up, cocking his head as if he thought Dean should understand. "Sam grieved for you, Dean. Deeply. He lasted only a few weeks before he gave up hope."

That hurt. Dean stared at Cas, then looked back at Sam. He'd heard his brother talk about being messed up the previous summer, saying that he'd been on the edge…but to hear it stated so matter-of-factly physically hurt.

"Ruby came to him," Cas continued. "When he was almost ready to end his life. His attempts to release you from Hell had failed. In his mind, there was nothing left. When Ruby came to him and offered him a way to strike back at Lilith—"

_You're brother's drowning, Dean_…. He finished Cas' sentence for him. "He took it. Like a lifeline."

Dean had been right when he returned back in September, Sam _had_ made a deal, just not the kind Dean or Bobby suspected. He'd given more than his soul, he'd given Ruby _everything_, just for a chance to avenge his brother and kill Lilith.

And it had all been a lie.

They'd both been played by both sides. The angels had probably known what Sam was doing all along, and hadn't lifted a finger to stop it. They'd told Dean just enough to make him angry, to make him push his little brother further into that manipulative bitch's arms. And, if he were being honest, it hadn't taken much for Dean to believe the worst about his brother. He wondered what that said about him.

"The blood came later," Castiel said, resuming the conversation. He seemed oblivious to Dean's distress. "Ruby knew that, however distraught your brother might be, however obsessed with revenge, he was not a fool. She wouldn't be able to fully convince him that he needed her. So, she construed the blood as a way for him to become more powerful. She gave him reasons to believe her, but the blood was not the source of his abilities."

Dean blinked at that. If the blood wasn't—

_It just came out of me like a punch. You know, like a freak adrenaline thing_.

A sickening realization began to settle over Dean. _Why didn't I think of that before?_

Sam had powers before Ruby came along. If the abilities had been Sam's all the time, then Ruby needed him to drink the blood for a different reason. "It was just a leash."

Castiel nodded sadly. "Whenever Sam questioned too much, or had doubts, she would simply cut off his supply, disappear for days or weeks. When she returned, he would be weakened enough to be compelled to trust her completely, again. He was already well on his way to being addicted by the time I brought you back."

Dean nodded. "And when I started getting through to him, convinced him to stop seeing Ruby, she just cut him off. He was dragged back to her every time."

It all made sense now. The lies, the excuses, the rationalizations. All the small changes that had led Dean to think that Sam had stopped being his brother, that he was no longer the man Dean remembered. All the evidence had been right under his nose, and Dean had drawn a completely wrong conclusion.

He'd thought Sam had changed, when he was really trapped. Ruby's claws had dug deep inside him before Dean had even noticed. Guilt nagged at him, too. Sam had needed his help, but in his anger, he'd pushed the kid away.

Yet, all of that faded when Dean watched Sam suffering in front of him now. Sam's choices had led him to this point. Dean's choices had prevented Sam from changing his. The angels' agenda had trapped both of them on their paths.

They'd been screwed from the start.

But, none of that mattered, anymore. Dean had just one question, now, and he was afraid to ask it. "Is it too late, Cas? Is there anything we can do?"

"Perhaps."

Dean waited a moment, but Cas was just looking at Sam, watching. "Don't make me guess, Cas. Come on."

"The effects of the blood don't last long, and the blood itself is absorbed quickly. I believe I can exorcise what demon blood is left in his body, and get Sam past the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. Hopefully, it will allow him to recover, in time."

"In time?"

"It is still an addiction," Cas sounded less certain. "Sam will need time to get past it completely. Dean…I must warn you, the process won't be easy for Sam to endure. He is very weak…he might not survive it at all."

Dean stared hard at the angel for a moment, then looked down at Sam. It wasn't a choice he relished making, but it wasn't like he had a lot of options. "If you don't try, Sam's pretty much dead anyway, right?"

His own words haunted him: _At least he'll die human_. They weren't much comfort, anymore.

Castiel looked away, nodding solemnly. Dean made his choice. "Do you need anything?"

"Some time to prepare."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, I didn't expect such a big reaction to this tag! Thanks everyone! Here's part 2. I hope it lives up to the first!_

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**Chapter 2**

Hell was more or less the way he had imagined it. Blood soaked the walls, screams filled the air, the stench of smoke and death assaulted his senses.

The pain, though, blotted out all of it.

Sam screamed as Dean's razor started another incision in his chest.

_Vivisection. You're lucky, Sammy_….

Dean grinned malevolently as the blade changed direction, slicing down toward Sam's stomach. He was in agony. When he could catch his breath, Sam could only beg.

"P-please! Stop!"

Much to Sam's surprise, Dean's tar-black eyes flipped back to green, and he hesitated. The blade didn't leave Sam's innards, but it stopped moving. The cold expression on Dean's face fell, replaced with something approaching genuine concern. "Maybe we should stop…."

Sam glanced to his right, finding Alastair across from Dean. The demon laughed and shook his head. "No. We're not finished."

All Sam wanted was for the pain to stop. Just for a moment. The guilt, the anger, the fear, the distrust, everything he'd felt in the months since Dean's return from the dead was gone, replaced by the unrelenting need for his brother to show him mercy.

He turned back to Dean, who was still hesitant. "But-"

But Alastair didn't care. "We must continue, Dean. He deserves this. He's made his choice."

_No. No, please_—

Dean's eyes went black again, and the razor resumed its slow trek across Sam's body. His insides were on fire, skin and organs splitting apart, the torment unbearable. Sam beseeched his sibling again, trying frantically to get through to him.

"Dean, stop! Stop! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, please! _Please_!"

"Cas, maybe we should-"

Alastair heard none of it. "Don't listen to him, Dean! He's weak, desperate. He'll say anything to make you forget what he is!"

_Monster, Sam. You're a monster_.

Sam shook his head violently. "No! No, Dean! I'm not a monster! I swear! Please, please stop!"

Dean's eyes met Sam's again, he almost looked upset. Almost. "Sammy…."

"Dean, please!" Sam didn't care about his pride. He'd do anything to make this end. "_Dean_!"

The pain intensified, impossibly, soaring past unbearable to heights his couldn't have imagined. Sam couldn't speak, couldn't breathe anymore. His vision began to fade, the screams still echoing around him as he sank into oblivion.

As darkness settled over him, Sam heard Dean speak again, far off in the distance.

"Is it over? Is he all right?"

Another, tired, voice answered. Not Alastair. Familiar, but—

"I've done all I can. Only time will answer."

Sam heard nothing else.

0000000000

Dean stepped out of the panic room, letting his face fall into his hands as he collapsed against the wall. He didn't even notice Bobby leaning against the other wall until the older man spoke.

"Well, that sounded damned awful."

Glancing up, Dean shifted, keeping his tear-streaked face out of sight. He still had his pride, even in the presence of an old friend. Bobby, blessedly, pretended not to see.

"How is he?"

When he could trust his voice not to crack, Dean cleared his throat. "Cas says…he thinks Sam's okay. He's resting. Just need to watch him tonight…."

"Are _you_ okay?"

Dean snorted at that. What a ridiculous question. He didn't hide his scorn. Didn't care when his voice cracked that time. "I just listened to my brother scream and beg me to stop for _four_ hours, Bobby. No, I'm _not_ okay!"

Angry for no reason he could fathom, Dean turned to stalk back into Sam's room. Bobby stopped him. "Dean. Go upstairs and get some shut-eye. I'll take this watch."

He shook his head, but Bobby stood his ground. "You want to be there for Sam when he wakes up, right? So, get some sleep now while I watch him."

Dean wanted to say no, wanted to argue. But, Sam was asleep. He didn't even know anyone was there, and Dean was so exhausted he was seeing double. Reluctantly, he nodded, stepping back and letting Bobby through the door. "Fine. But, come get me if—"

"I know the drill, Dean," Bobby snorted impatiently, but with a faint smile. "Now, git!"

A nod of thanks and Dean headed up into the house. A bed was calling to him, but he needed to stay close. He headed for the living room instead. Not bothering to remove his boots, Dean dropped onto the couch, head propped against one cushioned arm.

He was asleep almost immediately. For the first time in months, Dean dreamed about Hell.

0000000000

Dean cracked one eye open, once again meeting Rumsfeld eye to eye. He grumbled. Bobby's damned Rottweiler had been staring at him for—Dean didn't even know how long.

"Wh't d'you wan…?"

Rumsfeld replied just as he had the last time Dean grumbled. He beeped.

Dean's bleary eyes drifted open, settling on the attention-starved animal. Frowning, Dean sat up on his elbows. _Dogs don't beep_….

The dog wasn't forthcoming with an explanation, just whimpered and looked toward the front door. Dean reached out and scratched Rummy behind the ears, looking around for the source of the odd beeping noise.

He found it soon enough. Sam's cell was on the end table, where Dean had hastily dropped it when they'd been dragging Sam downstairs after his seizures started. Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Dean rose stiffly and stumbled over, picking up the phone and thumbing on the display.

One un-played message and one saved message. Both from Dean, with the same date and time.

Dean frowned. That was odd. He only remembered calling Sam once in the last few days. Heck, the last few weeks. His finger paused over the play button. Dean didn't enjoy violating Sam's privacy like this, but something was nagging at him. He bit his lip and played the voicemail.

"_First unheard message: Hey, it's me. Look, I'll get right to it_…"

Dean frowned. That was the message he'd left. _Sam never heard it? _The message played out, leaving him more than a little confused. What was the other message?

"_First saved message: "Listen to me, you blood-sucking freak. Dad always said I'd have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning, I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam, a vampire. You're not you anymore, and there's no going back_."

Dean's mouth hung open in shock. That was his voice. _That was_— No. What the—?

_Sam has a part to play, a very important part. He may need a little nudging in the right direction_.

Zachariah's words echoed in his head. Sam's behavior ever since leaving the convent clicked into place.

_Do what you said you were going to do…please. I won't fight, Dean. Just do it_.

_I'm a monster, a vampire, you said it yourself!_

Sam thought Dean was going to hurt him, _kill_ him.

For a long moment, Dean couldn't stop shaking. He jabbed the off button on the cell and pressed his fist against the wall, fury threatening to explode out of him. He ground his teeth so hard they started to hurt.

The rage needed an outlet. He gave it one. A small lamp on the table was the closest target. It sailed across the room, bulb shattering when it struck the opposite wall.

"_Castiel!_"

There was the softest fluttering of air, like the A/C kicking on or a breeze through the window. Dean didn't have to look to know the angel had appeared behind him. He was finally getting used to the sudden entrances and exits. The other man spoke before Dean spun around.

"It wasn't my doing, Dean."

Just barely restraining himself from lunging at the angel's throat, Dean reeled himself in enough to think. When the probable culprit's face loomed in his mind's eye, Dean took a breath and a half-step back. "Zachariah?"

Castiel nodded, looking remorseful. "Presumably."

Dean absorbed that, slowly nodding. He pocketed Sam's phone, stepping away before his violent urges got the better of him. Cursing under his breath, he turned and walked deliberately toward the stairs. "I'm gonna check on Sam."

He turned when he reached the door, looking back. Castiel actually seemed contrite, eyes not quite meeting his. A deadly calm settled over Dean. For the first time in what felt like forever, he had a direction to give the emotions that roiled inside him. For the first time since killing Azazel, he had a target. "Cas?"

The angel looked up, meeting his gaze. Dean spoke with a certainty he hadn't felt since he'd returned from Hell.

"Just so you know. Your ex-boss, Zachariah? Before this is all over, chances are I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."

Cas said nothing. Dean turned and headed downstairs. Anna said there were ways, that they could find weapons that killed angels. Dean intended to find one.

It wasn't bad enough that Zachariah had to unleash the fucking Apocalypse. It wasn't bad enough that he'd manipulated Dean six ways from Sunday. But, to push Sam over the edge…and using _Dean_ to do it? To crush what was left of the kid's life so that he'd be a hapless pawn in the big planetary enema? That was going too far.

Bobby was just stepping out of the panic room when Dean arrived. The older man looked tired. "Sam okay?"

"Still sleeping," Bobby answered quietly. "What's going on?"

Dean laughed. It sounded bitter even to his own ears. "Nothing. Life's just suckin' ass like usual."

He let Bobby listen to the voicemails. The demon hunter caught on to what had happened pretty quickly. He looked about the way Dean felt.

A glance through the door confirmed that Sam was still resting. The younger man's face was still flushed, cheeks hollow. The bags under his eyes made it look like he hadn't slept in a week, which, besides the last few hours, Dean couldn't say for sure anymore if he had.

Staring at the haggard form on the cot, Dean's anger melted again. In its place came nauseating dread. What the hell was he going to say to Sam when he woke up? Where did he begin? He voiced it when he looked back at Bobby.

"Where do I start? He believed this," Dean held up the phone. "He thought I was there to kill him. Sam's never going to trust me enough to hear what I have to say."

Bobby stared silently for a minute, then looked back at Sam. Finally, he shrugged. "Well…maybe it's not about him trusting _you_."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You told me, that night in the hotel, Sam asked you to trust him. Let him call the shots for once."

"Yeah?" Dean wasn't following.

"So, trust him. Show _him_ that you trust him. Maybe that'll get his attention."

0000000000

Exhaustion warred with a pounding headache. Sam wasn't sure which was going to win, until the pain in his skull compelled him to open his eyes. He regretted it instantly. The world beyond his eyelids was painfully bright.

He licked his lips, thirst making his mouth feel like a desert. Without warning, something gripped his head and tipped it forward. Wetness pressed against his cracked lips. It took a moment for _water_ to click in his mind. He couldn't manage more than a sip or two, though, before the moisture was pulled away. He savored the little bit he'd managed to swallow.

"Slowly. Don't overdo it."

The gentle words drew his attention. Sam tried again to force his eyes open. The light was still overwhelming, but he was able to tolerate it better this time. There was an orange glow over everything. _Dawn or evening?_ His vision was less blurred than before, but still not as sharp as normal.

His eyes functioned well enough, though, to see Dean sitting at his left shoulder. Sam wasn't sure what to think for a moment, but then he remembered. Dean had been there before, berating him. Telling him exactly what he was and what he deserved.

Sam was too tired to hear that again. He shook his head, more to himself than anyone—wasn't like it mattered. Nothing mattered. Sam had ended the world. Started the Apocalypse.

There was nothing the image of Dean could tell him that he didn't already know. The only useful thing it could do would be to kill him. Snuff him out before anyone else paid the price. If there was anyone else left after the events in Ilchester and what Sam had unleashed.

He rolled his head away, closing his eyes. Sam didn't care anymore. With any luck, he'd be dead soon.

"Look…Sammy, I know— At least give me a chance. Hear me out."

Sam chuckled weakly. "Why? You're not real."

There was silence for a long while, until he heard Dean's voice again. "I feel real to me, dude. See? I can pinch myself."

Sam sighed softly. Was his delusional mind finished accusing him and simply mocking him now? He supposed that might make sense. After all, what more could be said about him? He slowly rolled his head back to the left. Sure enough, Dean was pinching himself. Any other time, it would have been funny.

Now, it just reminded him of everything he'd thrown away. A life. Family. A brother he loved.

The faint but impish smile on Dean's face slipped away, replaced with a look Sam might have described as concerned once. Before Cold Spring. Before he'd walked out for the last time.

"It's really me. You're not seeing things." Dean said softly.

Sam snorted in tired disbelief. "Dean doesn't come down here."

He was surprised when a flash of guilt crossed the other's face. He hadn't expected to see that.

"Yeah, I— I know I screwed up, Sammy. I shouldn't have left you alone," Dean replied, looking away. "No one should go through that alone. I'm sorry, I really am."

Something wasn't right. Sam frowned, looking at his visitor more closely—having to, really, to compensate for the blur. This felt different than the last time. Was it really— "Dean?"

The other man turned back to him, nodding solemnly. "How you feelin' kiddo?"

Staring at Dean, the events of the last few—days? —came crashing back through the groggy haze of Sam's brain.

_It means you're a monster._

_You're just one of the filthy things that we hunt._

_You walk out that door, don't you _ever_ come back._

_You're a monster, Sam, a vampire._

_I'm through trying to save you_.

Without really thinking, Sam tensed, pulling away. He glanced down when the handcuffs clinked, and he tested them helplessly. He wasn't going anywhere. Sam hesitantly looked up at Dean, hoping at least his brother would make it quick. Family warranted that much consideration.

Dean reached out, gripping his shoulder. "You're okay. Calm down."

Sam obeyed, but watched Dean silently. What was happening? Why was Dean feigning concern? You didn't show a monster concern, you just ended it.

"Look," Dean reached into his pocket, withdrawing Sam's cell. "Before we go any further, let's clear something up, okay?"

Dean pushed a button, and Sam's voicemail filtered through the speaker.

"_Saved message: Listen you bloodsucking freak_…"

It was the message Sam had listened to before. He closed his eyes before they welled up. Those words were no less cutting now than they had been the first time.

Sam understood now. He was being punished. Dean wanted him to pay for what he'd done. Nodding to himself, he settled and listened. Dean was right, he deserved to suffer. The message played out, but Sam didn't move, just waited for it to replay.

He wasn't disappointed. The phone beeped, and the synthesized voice spoke again.

"_Saved message: Hey, it's me. Look, I'll get right to it. I'm still pissed at you, and I owe you a serious beat down…but, I shouldn't have said what I said_…"

Sam froze. A second message? What was Dean saying?

"_I'm not Dad. We're brothers, you know? Family. No matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change. Sammy, I'm sorr_—_ To replay this message, press one_."

Frowning, Sam opened his eyes, staring at the phone in confusion. He glanced from the phone to Dean and back, not understanding.

"That was my message, Sam. The angels changed it."

Sam tried to reconcile the voice in the message with what he'd heard. "I…don't understand."

Dean watched him, regret coloring his expression. "I don't think you're a monster, Sam. That was a…stupid thing to say. I'm sorry."

They stared at each other for a few long seconds. Sam's brain wasn't up to processing all of this. _The angels changed the voicemail?_

He couldn't keep up with what he was hearing. Dean stood silently and unlocked Sam's cuffs one at a time. Sam tensed, panic flaring again. "W-what are you doing?"

Dean worked slowly, deliberately, obviously trying to keep things calm. He spoke quietly while he worked. "You asked me to trust you. I know it's a little late, but…."

The last cuff fell from Sam's right wrist. He glanced at his free limbs, then at Dean, then at the open door. Dean seemed genuine, but how could he know? Unconsciousness was looking better with every passing minute. Sam's brain was overloaded.

With a confident expression, Dean extended his hand.

"It's not a trick. I just want to help you, bro."

Sam eyed the waiting hand warily, unsure what to do. They stayed like that for a while, but Dean didn't withdraw his hand, just waited. Uncertain, Sam raised one shaking hand. His brother grasped it firmly and pulled him into a sitting position, using his free hand to guide Sam's legs over the side of the cot.

Dean silently sat down next to him. Sam looked at him, still uncertain. His brother was trusting him.

He didn't know what to think about that.

0000000000

It took a little convincing to get Sam upstairs. His little brother was reeling, clearly, and Dean was afraid to push too hard. He was pretty sure than one wrong word or look right then could undo what he'd accomplished by playing the real phone message.

Dean considered it more of a truce than a reconciliation. Sam was pretty messed up. The incident with the gun would have told him that even if he hadn't known about everything else. Until he was sure Sam was stable, he'd have to use kid gloves.

And not look like he was patronizing Sam in the process.

_Yeah, this is going to be fun_.

Still, Sam had allowed Dean to help him up into the house and the kitchen. He'd turned green at the sight of food, but he needed to eat something, so Dean got Sam to the table and dug out some saltine crackers and a glass of water. Sam nibbled at the crackers, listening to Dean as he spelled out what he'd learned since they'd parted in Minnesota.

"So…the angels wanted Lilith to free Lucifer, all along?" Sam spoke up for the first time.

Dean could practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to piece together the details of what he was hearing. "Well, some of the higher ups, at least. The others, the ones fighting on the ground, were kept in the dark."

Sam seemed to take that in, but the resigned, defeated look on his face wasn't encouraging. He fidgeted with his water. "They could have stopped me."

"They didn't want to. Hell, they pushed you into it. They could have smoked Ruby any time, but they needed her to manipulate you."

He noticed the dark look that crossed Sam's face at the mention of Ruby, even as Sam picked disinterestedly at a cracker. Dean pressed on.

"What I'm trying to say is, what happened wasn't your fault. We were conned. From the beginning.

Sam's eyes didn't leave the tabletop when he shook his head. The venom in his voice could have intimidated anyone. "It is my fault, Dean. I let…that _bitch_ lead me around by the nose for a year. I let her trick me into breaking the last seal. You were right. About everything."

Dean didn't like the way Sam said "everything," since he was pretty sure that "everything" was liberally sprinkled with the words _monster_ and _freak_ and _deserve to die_. He didn't like Sam's tone at all, either. It was way too self-loathing. Dean decided to try a different approach. Bobby believed that Sam placed a lot of weight on his big brother's opinion, so he played that card.

"Well, the angels couldn't be trusted. They lied to us about everything. I mean, I think Cas might be the only one who actually has a conscience. _You_ were right about that, Sam. So…I guess we were _both_ right. We just weren't listening to each other when it counted."

Sam looked doubtful, but he was listening, now. Dean was making an impact; he just wasn't sure how big of one. He frowned. "Hey, you're wiped, man. Why don't you try to sleep? You'll feel better tomorrow."

The suggestion didn't meet with much enthusiasm. "If there is a tomorrow…."

"Sam—"

"Can I go outside?" Sam said suddenly, sounding submissive, like he always had after arguments with Dad. Dean had always hated that tone just as much.

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Do you want me to help—?"

"No," Sam said quickly. He shook his head again. "I won't do anything stupid, Dean. I just need some air. Can I? Please."

Dean deflated a little. He'd hoped to bolster Sam's mood a little, but he still seemed about as chipper as a man on death row. "You don't need my permission, Sammy. Just…stay close, okay? Cas says it's safe, but…."

_But, I'm not sure I completely trust him, yet? But, you never know when the devil himself is gonna show up?_ Dean wasn't sure how he wanted to finish that sentence. Sam didn't pursue the thought, just nodded.

"Thanks."

Dean watched him walk—shuffle; the kid was in pain, obviously—slowly out the back door. He resisted the urge to follow, deciding instead to check up on Bobby, who'd been tied up on the phone since Dean had brought Sam upstairs.

He found the older man in the study, holding the phone limply in one hand, and rubbing his eyes with the other.

"Hey. Sam's up and around."

Bobby peered blankly at Dean for a moment, then blinked. "Oh. Good. That's good."

"What's up? You hear something?" Dean asked, a sinking feeling taking hold in his gut. He hadn't seen Bobby this rattled in a while.

"Yeah," Bobby nodded grimly. "Rufus got some news from his friend Johnny down in Atlanta. It's started."

A chill went down Dean's spine. He didn't need to ask what "it" was. _Lucifer_. _The Apocalypse_.

It always seemed like they were running out of time. _All_ of the time.

"How bad?"

Bobby just stared at him. "Bad."

That bastard Zachariah's comment about the "planetary enema" rang in Dean's ears. He nodded slowly. "Okay. Find out what you can, all right? I'm gonna…find Cas and Sam."

He left the study without waiting for an answer.

0000000000

Sam had to hold onto to some of the junked cars to stay upright. His limbs were sluggish, it hurt to stand straight, and his blood was still pounding in his ears, but he couldn't bear sitting under Dean's compassionate gaze any longer.

Why Dean was being so nice mystified him. Didn't Dean realize what he'd done? Didn't Dean realize what he _was_? What he'd become? He didn't deserve mercy. He didn't deserve Dean's unconditional forgiveness.

Sam shook his head, bewildered. He should be groveling at his brother's feet. He should be punished, not nursed back to health. What was Dean thinking?

He stopped, leaned against a hulked Subaru, and dropped his head into his hands. He had no idea what to do. What did you do when you were responsible for the end of the world? What did you say?

It would have been so much easier if Dean had left him at that convent like he had asked.

Folding his arms against the cool night air, Sam scanned the junk yard. Darkness concealed everything past the perimeter fence. There was no telling what was happening outside their small corner of the world. The isolation seemed fitting. Maybe Bobby would let him stay here. He couldn't do any more damage here, alone.

His eyes settled on a hunched figure. The trench coat was a dead giveaway: Castiel. Sam considered going back inside. The angel no doubt had little use for him. Something wouldn't let him turn away, though.

Taking a deep breath, Sam gathered his strength and hobbled out toward the back of the lot. The cars weren't piled as high here, offering an unobstructed view of the night sky. Castiel was sitting on top of a stack of cinder blocks, his back to Sam. He knew better than to think that the angel was unaware of him, though.

Sam stumbled as he reached the stack. He was tired. Just walking was a little taxing. Now that he was out in the lot, all he really wanted was to be back inside, laying down as Dean had suggested.

"You're still weak from your ordeal. You should sit before you fall." Castiel intoned blandly. He didn't look in Sam's direction. Not that Sam thought he deserved to be acknowledged. He was just as happy to be ignored, but he sat gingerly atop the corner of the stack, opposite their guardian.

Sam regarded the angel silently. Castiel's eyes stayed on the sky, the expression on his face almost wistful. He followed that gaze. The stars were bright here. Sam was immediately reminded of so many similar nights, when he and Dean had rested on top of the Impala, hours from anywhere, staring at the open sky.

Better times.

Times Sam didn't deserve anymore. He glanced guiltily at Castiel, his tongue suddenly loosened by the vista above them.

"Um…may I…ask you a question?"

Castiel slowly turned his head, pinning Sam silently with his gaze. A cock of the head was the only response. Sam licked his suddenly dry lips. "What do you see when you look up there?"

"The sky. The stars." Cas answered simply.

Sam frowned. He wasn't sure why he couldn't let the answer stand. "Is that all?"

The other man turned back, expression shifting slightly. Sam thought he saw a faint smile. "My father's creation. Home. I haven't been home in…what seems like forever."

Sam glanced at him, shrugging slightly. He didn't really know how to relate to that. "I…never had a home. Just wherever Dean was."

They sat silently. Sam's mind circling back, as it had been doing for hours, to the horror he'd unleashed in Maryland. The dirty work he'd done for Lilith and Castiel's superiors. He looked up again, viewing the stars with a little more bitterness this time. "I guess, even if this place burns, your home will still be safe, at least."

When Castiel replied, his voice was gentle, but Sam heard steel underlying it, and the tiniest tinge of a rebuke. "Your faith has carried you far, Sam. Don't forsake it now. Zachariah has great influence, but he _is_ in the wrong. My father will intervene. In His own way, when the time is right."

Sam wondered how, despite everything Castiel had witnessed, he could still have such profound faith in anything. He marveled at it, when everything Sam had experienced in life seemed to be arguing the exact opposite. Faith was useless, a fallacy. Faith hadn't protected his parents, or Jess, or Dean. In the end, it hadn't even protected _him_.

A faint grunt of puzzlement from the angel broke Sam out of his thoughts. Castiel was staring at him, like he was trying to see through Sam at something else.

"It's curious. You and your brother are very different people, in almost every way, yet I see the same things inside you both."

Sam didn't meet the stare, as afraid of the answer as he was desperate to hear it. What did Castiel see inside him? A monster? A weakling? Or just a pathetic fool? He steeled himself to hear the worst. "What? What things?"

He didn't expect the answer he received.

"Pain. Guilt. Despair over things that you could not control. Dean is desperate to reject his faith. You are desperate to keep yours. Yet, neither of you are willing to surrender to it as you should."

"You say that like it's a bad thing, Cas."

Sam flinched at Dean's voice, startled when Dean appeared from behind them and plopped down beside him on the stack of blocks. Embarrassment at letting his guard down triggered an automatic, sheepish response. "I heard you coming a mile away, Dean."

Dean poked him gently in his side. "Did not. Cas, can you go see Bobby? Lucifer's finally reappeared on the radar."

The angel's expression hardened, but he nodded, rose and moved off. Sam watched him head for the house, trying to avoid the new gaze he knew was on him. When he finally had to turn back, he kept his eyes fixed on anything but Dean.

"You okay, Sammy? You look worn out."

He didn't say anything at first, trying to figure out what he was expected to say. When that failed, he went with the first thing that came to mind. "How can you even stand to look at me?"

Instead of confirmation of his worst fear, which Sam half-expected and half-wanted, he got a shrug and a nod. "Well, you have looked like crap the past few days."

Sam closed his eyes, pained. It wasn't funny. It wasn't all right, and pretending it was hurt. Physically _hurt_.

He felt Dean's leg brush his. Dean had slid closer to him, and when he spoke, it was hushed, like some great secret was about to be imparted. Sam listened, wondering what would come next.

"Eight months ago," Dean began quietly, eyes downcast. "When I clawed my way out of that grave, I didn't know where I was, or even _when_ I was. It was pitch black one minute and blinding bright the next. Took me a while, but when I finally got it together, when I realized that I'd been gone so long, I knew right away what I needed to do."

Sam watched Dean talk, daring to look directly at him for the first time since waking up in the panic room. Dean stared at the ground, and continued without waiting for a prompt.

"I had to find my brother. I had to make sure he was all right. And a few days ago, when Cas busted me out of that ritzy angel cage, I knew what I had to do then, too. Find my brother. Make sure he was all right."

Dean finally looked up at him. "I guess some things never change."

A few moments of silence went by before Sam realized that Dean was waiting. It was his turn. He thought about it, then shook his head. "When you showed up in that hotel in Illinois, and it was really you…for the first time in four months I thought maybe everything would be okay. Maybe, you could _make_ it all okay. But, you couldn't. When I found out what they'd done to you, what they'd put you through, all I could think about was getting back at them. At Lilith. Making her _pay_ for hurting you the way she did…and I was so…_completely_ wrong. I walked right into their hands."

He laughed, a sick, disparaging laugh. "How stupid is that?"

Dean shrugged again, looking thoughtful. "It's not stupid. It's human."

Sam frowned at that. Dean smirked faintly. "And…it's pretty much a Winchester trademark at this point."

Dean slowly draped his arm across Sam's shoulders. Sam realized, suddenly, that it was the closest they'd been without hurting each other since Dean had come back. He'd forgotten how much he missed it.

"Sammy— _Sam_." Dean corrected, his voice taking on that big brother tone that Sam remembered so well from his youth. "Those…_things_, those demons and angels? They waited until I was out of the way, and then they screwed with my little brother. You better believe, sooner or later, I'm gonna rip somebody's _lungs_ out for that."

Sam smiled at that. He'd heard that so many times growing up. When an unexpected chuckle bubbled out of him, he was just as surprised as he was pretty sure Dean was. The older man seemed to be spurred on by it.

"But, right now? As insane as it sounds, the freakin' Devil is on the loose, and I need your help, man. This is big—end of the world big—and I can't do this alone."

"Yes, you can," Sam whispered. He couldn't possibly help. Dean had to know that.

Or not. Dean eyes met his, unwavering. "Well, I don't want to."

There it was. Sam studied Dean, expecting it to be a joke, or empty rhetoric, but he detected no dishonesty or false modesty in that face. His brother was asking for his help. His brother needed him. Sam couldn't fight that. He had never been able to deny his big brother. Never been able to say no.

He nodded. A silent promise. They were seeing this through together. Just the two of them.

Sam might have changed, but he guessed Dean was right. Some things never did.

END


End file.
